


Snow? No thanks.

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Arguments, Cuddling, Depression, Fights, Friends to Lovers, Getting high, Hurt/Comfort, It’s Complicated, Love Letters, M/M, Paint Sniffing, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Spooning, Star Gazing, depression naps, mild stalking, paint huffing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-04-05 11:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14043225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stan blinked wordlessly, refusing to allow his face to betray any other emotion but a numb neutrality.





	1. I thought I was Eve, but I guess I’m the snake

Stan Marsh woke slowly in his bed, morning light slanting in a gentle trickle through his blinds. Something was off. 

Lightly raising his head, he peered over a suspiciously unnatural lump of blanket, eyes quickly locking on a mat of red curls and pale, freckled skin infront of him. Taking a deep breath, the raven recalled the events of last night.

_The tv was buzzing with some shitty show Stan had never seen before, his attention only captivated by the screen through sheer boredom._

_A light, almost inaudible knock clunked from the door, interrupting a exasperated sigh and swiftly breaking Stan's trance. Stumbling to the door, the male opened the door, stifling a suprised gasp as blue eyes locked with green._

_"Dude?-"_

_"Dude. Shut your stupid mouth and let me the fuck in. It's cold as fuck out here." Without waiting for a reply, Kyle brusquely shouldered his way in, leaving some rapidly melting snow on Stan's white t-shirt._

_Quickly shutting the door to keep out the chill and nights' snow, Stan spun to face Kyle, who was in the process of shrugging off his coat. "Is it okay if I spend the night? Kinda bummed. Needed my super best friend, I guess."_

_Stan offered the ginger a sympathetic smile, enveloping him in a tight hug, before pulling away, pressing his hands comfortably into the spaces behind Kyle's ears, so that he could maintain eye contact. "Dude, you don't have to ask. Feel free to come over any time."_

Kyle had followed up on his request.

The two had plenty of sleepovers in the past, quite "unmanlike" according to Clyde, but if it was fine with Kyle, it was fine with Stan. The boys were always more comfortable with eachother, more than normal best friends, but it wasn't really a friends with benefits relationship, just, friends.

Stan hated it.

He wanted to kiss Kyle's stupid face, to bury his face in the male's curls and tell him he loved him, that everything would be okay, that forever would begin today.

But he couldn't, and it was fucking torture.

Stupid sexy Kyle Broflovski.


	2. Eggs! Eggs! Eggs!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not too sure where im taking this, but im probably gonna wing it and add in some day to day occurrences in my life to spice it up and not just make this about Stan kissing Kyle's ass

Stan took a quiet breath, attempting to slide out of the bed without disturbing Kyle, succeeding by a landslide.

Hell yeah! One point for Stan Marsh.

Awkwardly slipping on a pair of sweatpants, Stan stumbled out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen, jabbing the rubber until the fridge opened soundlessly, suction broken,

The noirette's eyes locked on a carton of eggs, which he hesitantly pulled out. Were eggs kosher? Did Kyle even follow the rules of kosher food? Stan swore he had saw the redhead eat ham like a motherfucker once.

Whatever. If Kyle didn't like it, more for him.

Pulling a skillet out of a nearby cabinet, Stan set the burner on high and placed the pan down, using a little (forget it, a lot) more Pam spray than necessary. These eggs had to be perfect. Waiting a few more moments, Stan finally, skillfully if he said so himself, cracked two eggs into the skillet. Stan paused a moment, before shaking a small amount of salt and pepper onto the eggs.

Hearing a distant thump and a rather loud snarl of sheer anger and pain, Stan assumed Kyle was awake.

His suspicions were proven true as Kyle's head appeared around the corner, bleary-eyed. "Dude, you makin' breakfast?"

"Hell yeah I am. This one's for you." Stan smiled, turning back to the stove as he cautiously slid the eggs onto a plate.

"Did you check for blood-spots?" Kyle mumbled, swallowing a yawn.

"W-What?" Stan chuckled nervously.

"Eggs are only kosher if there's no blood-spots." Kyle reminded him.

_Damn._

Stan shook his head, giving the Nightmare Before Christmas pyjama clad Kyle the plate. "No..? Should I have? I can make you more if you want, and check it for-"

"Dude, shut your mouth before you have an aneurysm. It's fine." Kyle snorted, taking the plate to the dining room.

Stan internally cursed himself out for being such a sappy idiot. 

Taking a granola bar, he followed the ginger into the dining room, sitting across from him.

"Dude, I'm impressed you haven't withered away yet, granola bars seem to be the only things you eat at this point." Kyle pointed out, cocking his head.

Stan snorted self-conciencely, staring at the granola bar as if it had just run over his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rrrgh


	3. Ding Dong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever was a pretty good word for the occurrence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a small chapter. 
> 
> I’m not dead! Summer break just started for me, and I’ve got a whole ton of bullshit to get out.

Stan intensely stared at the screen in front of him, bright meaningless pictures flashing across his bleary vision. 

It was Coraline, Kyle’s favorite movie. 

Hell, the kid was speaking every single line with the movie. 

It made him kind of uncomfortable, but that’s fine. Anything to make him happy. 

The classroom seemed to swim around the noire, and he sighed, pressing his face into his palms. His stomach hurt, and he wanted to go home. His mom would probably chew him out if he called her, though. So, whatever. Stan swallowed his complaints and stuck to laying his head down on his desk, hardly even acknowledging the touch on his shoulder. Kyle, he was a great friend, but the total opposite of a good therapist. It kind of frustrated Stan, but whatever. 

Whatever was a pretty good word for the occurrence. 

Kyle hummed something, and rubbed a circle into the small of Stan’s back with a warm thumb. Kyle’s hands were always soft and warm. It was kind of intriguing. They were usually sweaty, too. Stan smiled sadly. He knew everything about Kyle, and yet hardly knew or understood him. 

It was really confusing. 

Next thing he knew, Stan was sitting in math class, in the middle of a circle of desks. 

A paint pen was produced from somewhere above him, and dropped into his hand. Stan let out a soft trill, squinting up at whatever god dropped the holy device into his undeserving hands. He couldn’t make out the face, so, whatever. 

The pen was promptly uncapped, and abused. 

Kyle made an uncomfortable noise as he watched his best friend’s face grow redder and redder. He exchanged a silent look with Cartman.

The brunette eventually sneered, tapping a fat finger on the desk in front of him. 

“Marsh!” He snapped, leaning over the table “Get a hold of yourself! Put the _fucking_ pen down, or so help me, I’ll pull it out of your hands myself.”

Stan coughed, flipping his head back to rest it against his spine, staring absently up at Eric. His blue gaze held heterochromatic, before flittering over to green. Kyle raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips. 

Stan simply sat, dumbfounded, before he broke into a fit of giggling. 

Cartman was immensely confused. Why was this asshole laughing? His brain cells were dying, for heaven’s sake! 

Kyle just sighed, snatching the pen from Stan, and shoving it into his breast pocket. 

“Lay off the shit, man. I’m not going to play mother hen again.” The redhead eventually drawled, flogging Stan with an exhausted flick of his gloved hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for whatever this was.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m totally revamping this man. Expect better or worse stuff. Who knows.


End file.
